Terry Brooks: High Druid's Blade

He reached into his robes and pulled out a long black knife. “It is the murder weapon. It was found lying on the floor next to the body of Minister Caeil. Do you recognize it?”

She nodded. “It is called the Stiehl. It is a Druid artifact that was stolen from our archives some weeks ago. May I see it?”

The Prime Minister handed it to her. “That blade is very sharp.”

“That blade,” she said, giving the weapon a careful examination to be certain of what she was holding, “will cut through anything. There is no defense against it except for certain forms of magic.” She looked up at him. “It was left behind by the killer?”

The other nodded. “And so it proves a further cause for my suspicion. Who would be foolish or careless enough to leave behind clear evidence that they were in some way affiliated with the Druid order? Was it simply forgotten in the heat of things? Was it dropped by accident? All of these seem unlikely to me.”

“The Stiehl was last seen in the hands of a sorcerer called Arcannen several days ago in Wayford. It was used to kill one of my Druids–a man who had gone to find him and bring him back for punishment.”

The Prime Minister’s smile was chilly. “I thought as much. Arcannen’s name has surfaced repeatedly during our investigation of this killing. He was listed on Minister Caeil’s register as visiting him at least six times in the last four months. He was clearly a man known to the Minister who came and went regularly.” He paused. “Rumor has it that he has significant use of magic, including the ability to change his appearance.”

Aphenglow nodded. “I expect that is true. So you don’t think Isaturin is responsible for any of this?”

“I would be surprised if he was. Fashton Caeil was an ambitious man with plans for improving his situation in the Coalition Council. I have heard he coveted my own position. It seems likely that he overstepped himself with this sorcerer and paid the price for doing so.”

He paused. “My only confusion comes from not understanding why the killer believed I would be convinced it was Isaturin. Given what we know, his efforts seem amateurish.”

“I agree. Whatever else he might be, Arcannen is no fool. There is something else at work here.” She considered. “I wonder if his intent in all this was not to fool us, but simply to delay us in our efforts to come after him. He knows we hunt him for his killing of our Druid brother. Perhaps this additional killing was meant to cause enough confusion to give him an opportunity to escape. And to make certain at the same time that the exact details of what was going on between the two never came to light.”

“Perhaps he hoped I would act precipitously and simply assume the worst about you,” the Prime Minister added ruefully. “It would not be the first time such a thing happened in the history of Druids and the Federation. And, in point of fact, it is happening to some extent now, as well. Others are already making judgments about these killings, which is why I came to you myself so we could have this talk. Can you be certain Isaturin was here yesterday when the killing was done?”

“I can find out immediately,” she answered.

She called back to her guards and asked for Sebec to be sent to her. When the young scribe appeared, she asked him about Isaturin. “I want to know if he was here all day yesterday and the day before. I want to know if he left the Keep to go anywhere at all in that time. Will you check the logs and speak with the airfield watch?”

Sebec set off at a run. She turned back to the Prime Minister. “So the rumor of a Druid murderer is already being given credence?”

“He was seen and identified.” The Prime Minister shrugged. “On the surface, it seems unquestionable that he is guilty. But you and I know better than to rely on what appears on the surface.”

She nodded. “I am grateful to you for coming to settle this matter yourself.”

“I fear we do less than we should to cooperate. Our inbred suspicions and long history of conflict drive us apart more often than not. This seemed a good opportunity to try to change this rather unfortunate habit.”

She offered the blade back to him, a gesture she felt appropriate, but he quickly held up his hands, indicating he did not want it. “It belongs here, locked safely away. Do you think you might have better luck doing that this time?”

She didn’t miss the irony in his voice. “When we lock it up this time, it will not be taken from us again,” she replied.

“I am pleased to hear that.”

So they stood together in silence for what seemed to Aphen an endless amount of time, waiting on Sebec. When he finally returned, he was flushed and out of breath. Before saying anything, he looked questioningly at the Ard Rhys.

“Just give your report, Sebec,” she told him.

“Isaturin returned from Arishaig five days ago. He has not left here since. The logs and the guards all confirm it.”

She sent him away and turned back to the Prime Minister.

“Well, Mistress, we have our answer,” he said. “I am satisfied. But let me ask a favor of you. Would the Druid order be willing to undertake a hunt for the real killer? Would you be willing to assume responsibility for finding him?”

She nodded slowly. “I had already decided on this. If I can bring him back in one piece, he will be brought before you and made to answer directly for his actions.”

The Prime Minister held out his hands. “I offer peace to you, Mistress. Now and in the future.”

“I offer friendship, Prime Minister,” she replied. She took his hands in her own and squeezed gently. “Safe journey home.”

She watched him return to his companions and board the warship. She continued to watch as the vessel released its moorings and lifted away. She kept watching until it was out of sight.

A crisis averted, a promise of peace offered, and an affirmation of friendship given in return–all in a matter of minutes, she thought. What other surprises does this day have in store?

THE CITY STREETS WERE TEEMING WITH PEOPLE AND CLOGGED with carriages and animals by the time Paxon and Leofur exited Mischa’s building and began walking toward Dark House. To all appearances, they were just another couple passing through the city, but that was only because Leofur had slung her flash rip over one shoulder and closed it away beneath her cloak. While one or two pairs of eyes might have strayed to the black sword strapped across Paxon’s back, it didn’t draw nearly the attention the flash rip would.

In any event, no one stopped them. Midday was approaching, and the smell of foods cooking and the laughter and voices of men and women enjoying their noon meal rose on all sides. The Highlander was acutely aware of how hungry he was; he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night. He glanced at the girl and took note of her pinched face.

Impulsively, he pulled her over to a cart serving hot beef sandwiches and bought two. Standing in front of a makeshift counter with tankards of ale added to the purchase, they gulped their food and drink like starving wolves. Once finished, they exchanged a look at each other’s grease–and–ale–smeared faces and laughed in spite of themselves. Offering thanks to the vendor, who barely acknowledged them, they set out anew.

It took them only a short while to reach their destination. Paxon slowed when it came in sight, hanging back against the wall of a building across the street and down a bit from Dark House, gathering his thoughts. They weren’t so much about what he was going to do as how he was going to do it. It would probably be better to wait until nightfall and then go in. The traffic would have abated and the darkness would help conceal them. But waiting wasn’t an option. There was no guarantee that Arcannen was even there; waiting until it got dark didn’t improve the odds.